His 'n' Hers (3 page)

I listen out as the phone stops ringing and wait, dripping water all over the floor, by the bathroom for Helen to relay the message.

‘It’s a woman,’ she says, holding out the phone. ‘She wants to speak to you. She says it’s important.’

I take the phone from her and she wanders off in the direction of the kitchen. I walk back into the bathroom to save the hallway carpet from further damage and stand in front of the mirror to do my daily hairline examination. ‘Hello?’ I say, peering at my scalp.

‘Jim, it’s me.’

I nearly drop the phone at the sound of this woman’s voice. There’s a long pause.

‘Hello . . . Can you hear me?’

‘Sorry,’ I reply, after a few moments. ‘I’m still here . . . it’s just that . . . Is this . . . Alison?’

‘Yes.’

‘How are you?’

‘I’m okay, thanks. How are you?’

‘Me? I’m fine . . . but—’

‘Listen, I’m only ringing because, well, I thought you ought to know that Disco died last night. She had cancer, apparently.’

‘I didn’t even know cats could get cancer.’

‘That’s exactly what . . .’ Her voice trails off. ‘I just thought you ought to know, that’s all.’

‘It’s a real shock. I feel bad I haven’t seen her at all.’ I laugh, sadly. ‘This is going to sound stupid but I’ve got her photo Blu-tacked to the mirror on the wardrobe in my bedroom . . . She would’ve been ten this year, wouldn’t she? How much is that in cat years?’

‘I don’t know. Old, I suppose.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘At the vet’s in Crouch End. I’m going over there in a bit to . . . I don’t know . . .’ Alison starts to cry.

‘I’m supposed to be working from home today,’ I tell her, ‘but I’ll come with you if you like.’

‘You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.’

‘I want to. After all, Disco was my cat too.’

Alison gives me her address and we arrange to meet at her flat in Crouch End in the next hour or so and I put down the phone.

Helen comes into the bathroom singing along to a song coming from the radio in the kitchen. ‘Who was that on the phone?’

‘It was Alison,’ I say.

‘Alison? As in your ex-wife, Alison?’

I laugh. ‘I always feel weird when you call her that. I feel too young to have an ex-wife.’

‘That’s what you get for marrying young,’ says Helen. ‘Anyway, starter marriages are all the rage, according to the sort of thing you read in weekend papers. All the best people have one – Hollywood actors, pop stars, the lot. And apparently having one means that subsequent relationships will be healthier because you tend to learn from your mistakes.’ Helen kisses my nose. ‘Anyway, what was she calling for?’

‘She called to say that our cat died.’

‘Disco?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Oh, baby,’ says Helen, putting her arms around me. ‘That’s awful. And there’s me rambling on about starter marriages like an idiot. I’m really sorry. How did it happen?’

‘Cancer, apparently.’

‘Oh, that’s a real shame. How do you feel?’

‘A bit odd, really. She had a nice personality. Whenever I was watching TV she’d come and join me. She was the perfect companion to watch TV with.’ I pause and then add, ‘I know this is going to sound weird but I agreed to go to the vet’s with Alison.’

‘Oh,’ says Helen flatly.

‘Are you going to be okay with that?’

Helen sighs. ‘Do you have to?’

I think for a moment before speaking. ‘No, I don’t have to. But when we split up the only reason Alison got Disco was . . . Well, put it this way, we both wanted to keep her. I think it’s only fair that I . . . I don’t know . . . that I’m there.’

‘I’ve never really imagined you as a cat person.’

‘I’m not,’ I reply. ‘But Disco is . . . was different.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she was mine.’

Helen smiles. ‘If you want to go to the vet’s with her I’m fine with it. I haven’t got anything to worry about, have I?’

‘Of course not,’ I say. ‘I haven’t seen her for years. I don’t even know if we’ll have much to talk about. Everything that happened back then feels like it happened in a different lifetime. It’s like all that stuff you were saying about starter marriages. Alison and I made a mistake. It’s as simple as that. But we were young enough to get over it and move on.’

I don’t let the girl from Norwich get me down. Instead I set my sights elsewhere and my romantic overtures are rejected by Liz Grey from Huddersfield (two As and a B at A level), Manjit ‘My friends call me Manny’ Kaur from Colchester (who’s ‘into’ New Model Army and the Levellers), and Christina Wood from Bath (who is really pleased that she didn’t get into Cambridge, and is not in the slightest bit bitter that Katie, her best friend from school, has). It’s not until I try it on with Linda Braithwaite at the end of the night that I get ‘lucky’. Linda is a semi-Goth from the East Midlands, who has the hair, likes the music, wears the clothes but has yet to make the transition into full-Goth mode, with the white makeup, black nails, love of rubbish horror films and quaint belief that she has joined the ranks of the undead. All in all, as we kiss in the corner of the students’ union bar, I consider it a result.

The morning after the night before, I’m walking towards campus to attend my very first university lecture. This being something of a momentous occasion for me, and desperate to give the impression that I’m a proper student, I’m wearing tartan trousers, Doc Marten’s boots, a home-made CND T-shirt (made the week before utilising a cheap market-stall T-shirt, a black marker pen and very basic artistic skills), a charity-shop men’s suit jacket and a flat cap. I think I look fantastic. The outfit is finished off with my Walkman, which, thanks to the tape playing in it (a Billy Bragg album), gives me the perfect soundtrack to feel that I’m in possession of the requisite amount of left-wing political idealism.